Page 91 of Anathema

“The king isn’t aware of your little secret, is he?” She held out her hand, agitating the water with whatever power she casted toward it. “He believes your sigil, the scorpion, to be the curse itself. A mere affliction propagated by Cadavros. He has no idea of its derivation, does he?”

Zevander kept his thoughts narrowed and focused, refusing to confirm.

“He has no idea the ancient power that resides in you. The mystical black flame that could wreak havoc on his kingdom, with no more than a wave of your hand.”

A bold accusation, given the belief held by the highest mages, that no one had ever successfully undergone the Emberforge ritual without losing their powers. Still, he held his tongue, rejecting her manipulative provocations.

The Koryn rose up out of the water, eyes glowing with menace.

Zevander’s scorpions stirred at the sight of the beast looming over him, primed to strike at any moment. Melantha reached out a hand and petted the serpent’s scaly snout, then turned around to face Zevander, putting her back to the creature that slowly retreated into the moat. “My apologies for the inquisition earlier. On one hand, I wanted to clear the air. On the other, I hoped for an opportunity to meet the skilled man cursed by sablefyre.”

Eyes narrowed, Zevander studied her, trying to discern if she had, in fact, scanned his thoughts.

“We’ve mutual acquaintances in the Solassions. I once suffered the very mines that held you prisoner.” It didn’t surprise Zevander. The Solassions were ruthless cunts, and would’ve had no qualms about keeping a woman as prisoner.

“Look at you now. Apprentice to the Magelord.”

“Yes. I’ve lived an interesting life.” Hands behind her back, she sauntered toward him. “Not without suffering, though. Perhaps we can exchange stories sometime.”

“I don’t think so.” Zevander strode past her toward the hill.

“Zevander,” she said, bringing him to a reluctant halt. “I failed to mention in the meeting that three of the Magestroli have also gone missing.”

“Strange that you wouldn’t mention that in front of the king.”

“He has enough on his plate, what with his soldiers missing and his daughter’s Becoming. Word is, the mages were headed to Corvus Keep.”

He didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction, instead keeping his expression stoic. “Did they have such little confidence that I would take care of the mage myself?”

“They were under the impression that Dolion had taken the bloodstones there. I don’t suppose you retrieved them before killing him?”

“I’ve answered all of your questions. I have no awareness of the stones.” A thousand tiny needles surged across his abdomen, proving that he hadn’t expelled all of the Nilmirth.

“Pity. It’s said the stones are the only thing that can destroy sablefyre.”

“Interesting.”

“It is. Exceptionally interesting. I shall see you at the Becoming, then.” With that, she sauntered past him, her fingers brushing over his chest, and Zevander’s flame reached out, as if drawn to her somehow.

Snarling, he pulled it back into himself.

Darkness had fallen by the time Zevander reached Eidolon, and every muscle in his body ached from the residual toxin still circulating in his blood. He’d expelled twice more on the ride back, and was ready to sleep it off. The moment he entered the castle, he found Rykaia sitting on stairs, a glass of wine dangling from her fingertips.

“Why keep the mortal in the dungeons?” she asked as he approached.

“I am in no mood tonight.”

“You’d prefer to be fetching me from The Hovel again, is that it? Because this is what being off elixirs is like, Brother. I have to distract myself with life.”

He halted and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She is of interest. That is all.”

“Oh, clearly she is of interest. I cannot summon a single memory of when you brought another woman back to the castle. I find that intriguing.”

“I’m happy to oblige your curiosity.”

“Women do not belong in cages, Brother. Perhaps you might offer better accommodations to our guest.”

“She’s not our guest.”

---